


Good Days Require a Break (In) Now and Then

by rainbowstrlght



Category: Original Work
Genre: Heist, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowstrlght/pseuds/rainbowstrlght
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie wants to break into the National Archives on Christmas. Oliver would rather drink Diet Coke and hack identities in Bangalore. The boys compromise--which means Oliver has to go along  to break into the National Archives on Christmas. (Dammit.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Days Require a Break (In) Now and Then

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for my creative writing class. Just a bit of fun. Probably could be fleshed out more, but _eh_.
> 
>   
> 

“Ollie, you didn’t ask me what I wanted for my birthday.”

         Oliver paused at his computer, staring at the lines of code that had been occupying his evening. This was a trick question.

         “I asked what you wanted for Christmas.”

         Jamie lounged on their beaten up curbside couch, his long legs dangling over the top edge while his long fingers licked the sides of a pint of ice cream. It was dignified in the only way that Jamie could make it, complete with exasperated sigh.

         “Birthdays are _way_ more important than Christmas.”

         He was still a petulant child at 32, but Oliver was pretty used to it after all the years they’d been working together. Jamie had his eccentric mood-swings coupled with strokes of brilliance—actually, Jamie was _always_ brilliant—but the mental lightning strikes that led to cleaning out Sotheby’s in New York three years ago proved to also have their downsides. Like incessant neediness.

         “Ollie.”

          Oliver turned back to his computer. It had been a great day of hacking identities in Bangalore and Tokyo—Jamie’s Christmas present—and Oliver even had a 2-liter of Diet Coke to accompany it. The History Channel had been on in the background, and for once Jamie had refrained from commentary on all the historical inaccuracies.

         “Ollie, ask me what I want for my birthday.”

          All right—“Jamie, what _do_ you want for your birthday?”

         “I want to visit the National Archives.”

          Oliver blinked at his screen—that was simple enough. Although they might not clear the security checks without some assistance, that really wasn’t difficult either.

          “You can buy a printed copy of the Declaration of Independence, you know.” Oliver’s fingers were already tapping to create fake IDs. “Probably the Magna Carta, too.”

          “ _One_ of the Magna Cartas. And besides, I don’t want to see those.”

          Oliver stopped typing. Of course it was a bit more complicated. “What else is there?”

          His mind flipped through the limited information he had. Unlike most American citizens, Oliver had never felt the patriotic need to visit their country’s capital and see the sights, and that included the Archives. Although the longer he thought about it, the more he realized it was probably a museum with many historical artifacts—boring American history artifacts. Probably a speech or two.

          “I just want to look at something,” Jamie said innocently enough.

          “We can go tomorrow, if you want.” Wednesdays were probably not the busiest day, especially in November. “I’ll print the IDs tonight—“

          “No, _Christmas_. And besides, I don’t think I can just go through the front door for this.”

          Oliver bit his chapped lips. On Christmas the Archives would likely be closed. There would probably still be security—albeit merry security—but there would be too many bodies around to sneak in undetected, nonetheless. And on top of that, after the heist in New York, they were supposed to lay low for ten years. They had only made it to three, and apparently Jamie was already itching for another plot.

          But— _I just want to look at something_. Jamie had said “look.” He was a criminal mastermind for many reasons, but one of them was that Jamie chose his words with care. What was the harm in _looking,_ as opposed to their usual thievery? Perhaps this would not be the most dangerous of stunts.

          “Do you have a plan?” Oliver turned in his computer chair, watching as Jamie swooped up from the couch with too much grace—he was an abnormal bird, but he was still Oliver’s bird.

          “Not yet.” Jamie’s fingers finished the dregs of ice cream, the last bits catching on a fingernail, his face not showing the remotest of concern.

          Oliver raised an eyebrow, hoping that genius, unlike lightning, could strike twice. “You’ll ask around.”

          “You’re always so uptight about everything— _of course_ I’ll ask around.” Jamie threw the carton in the trash. “I’m not an amateur.”

          Oliver could certainly find blueprints and hack access codes, but Jamie had the connections to people and likely escape routes—when he actually wanted to _talk_ to people, that is.

          “What exactly are we going to look at, again?” Oliver didn’t really want to go to prison for the National Archives, but it _was_ Jamie’s birthday present. They had done worse.

          But Jamie didn’t answer, instead pausing at a full-length mirror to look at himself sideways. The man was pretty vain, but deservedly so. If Jamie hadn’t succeeded in robbing half of the neighborhoods near Boston back in the 90s, he probably would’ve been content with a career in modeling.

          “Do you think they have any of Nancy Reagan’s dresses there?” Jamie’s blond hair fell in his eyes and he made a face at his thin reflection. “She had exquisite taste.”

          “Not sure why they would have _any_ dresses there.” Oliver had never seen Jamie wear one, but then, Jamie had willingly donned a coconut bra before, and it usually went downhill from there. “And anyway, I’m guessing we wouldn’t have that much time.”

         “ _Alarmist_.” But Jamie knew, as well as Oliver did, that Sotheby’s had been completed in only three minutes—and they had needed to cut it short on the fly.

          Oliver looked away and back at his lines of code, his dark and unruly curls falling into his eyes. Not that sight mattered—he couldn’t type any of his questions into Google, anyway. _How do we break into the National Archives?_ was not something for Boolean searching, much less, _Help, a mastermind is making me do this and he’ll probably dawdle along the way._

          “This is going to be fantastic.” Jamie clapped his hands excitedly, scaring Oliver even further. “Best Christmas-Birthday _ever_.”

          Oliver wasn’t certain about that, but if they survived, it’d be a Happy New Year for sure.

 

 

The blueprints for the National Archives practically required selling a kidney—not Oliver’s thankfully, but close—and three weeks later they were now on Oliver’s hard drive, making the path for a break in quite clear: Underground tunnels.

            “Of course,” Jamie had only remarked, staring at them intensely one minute, then tossing them aside the next. “ _Easy_.”

            Oliver could only marvel at that assuredness. He had been having nightmares with Nicholas Cage in them lately, and he hadn’t even seen that movie. “This better be worth it.”

            Jamie patted the top of his mop head, tucking a curl behind an ear. “Ollie, when have I ever steered you wrong?”

            Many times, but Oliver could not regret them. They were now millionaires that hid out in exciting parts of the world, after all. “I’ll get the gear ready.”

            “I even bought you a new outfit,” Jamie said cheerfully, but of course it’s not like they wore anything but black.

 

 

They were running through hallways with alarms blaring behind them, and Oliver was mentally cursing the entire way.

            “Just near here,” Jamie said calmly, as if they had just completed a walk in the park. “They organize by subject.” His lithe fingers hovered over door plaques until the right storage room appeared before them, then he used his gloved hand to open and lead the way.

            Everything looked the same to Oliver—same stupid rows of boxes with the same wooden drawers—but he stood at the entrance to act as a lookout. Any second now they could be caught and sent to prison, but at least Jamie would see what he came for.

            “Goddammit, _hurry_ ,” Oliver hissed at Jamie’s casual gawking, but of course Jamie did nothing of the sort.

            “Alarmist,” he muttered, but then went down a specific row to its very end—quickly, quietly, with purpose. Hopefully with this mind set, they could get out in a minute, tops.

            Oliver looked at his watch, knowing that the alarm system had a series of automatic security protocols. On site staff had been alerted, but 46 seconds ago the police had likely been notified as well. Jamie had been right in using a tunnel that had been blocked for decades and was thus unattended, but he had not accounted for the motion detectors that had set off a ripple effect once they had stepped onto the linoleum Archive grounds. Ever since they exited that boiler room, it had been a _Tom and Jerry_ game of close calls.

            “Oh, _Jackie_.”

            Oliver glanced back at the echo, wondering what made Jamie sound so orgasmic.

            “This—this is just exquisite. Even for a knock-off, she had good taste.”

            Oliver scrunched his brows together.

            “And the blood spatter pattern is just like I expected. Good lord, what a beauty.”

            “Jamie, we only have 30 seconds—“

            “Ollie, you must see this. This is—I actually have no words.”

            “Great, because we only have 25 freaking sec—“

            “It’s criminal that they locked this up.”

            “You know what’s criminal? Getting fucking _caught_.” Oliver knew the moment he swore that he’d given away his panic, but it wasn’t like Jamie would care, anyway.

            “No need to get testy.” There was a sigh and shuffling of drawers. “You’re missing history, you know.”

            “I’ll cry over it later.” There was a pounding of boots to Oliver’s left, which signaled the need for a hasty retreat. “For now, get me to a damn tunnel.”

            “I wish I could’ve brought my camera,” Jamie whined, but motioned with a hand to the nearest hallway. The pout never left his face as they crawled through a maze of air ducts, avoided the teeth of several German Shepherds, and eventually escaped through a tunnel to the basement of an adjoining building.

            Oliver could only shake his head at the continual soundtrack of sirens in the distance, louder from the rooftop where they now stood.

            “They’re so overprotective here,” Jamie muttered.

            “You think?” Oliver wanted to throw him over the edge, but threw their rope instead. “It’s like they’re concerned about priceless artifacts, or something.”

            “ _Alarmist_ ,” Jamie hissed, but it lacked its usual bite—he had to jump 15 feet from the end of their rope, and the man had always been scared of heights.

            Once they had reached freedom with their getaway car, Oliver allowed himself a moment to enjoy that bit of revenge.

 

 

“God, we should do that again.”

           They were back at their shabby apartment with a dozen donuts, watching CNN for the latest breaking news on the National Archives— _“As far as officials can tell, nothing was stolen, leading police to think that maybe Santa just crawled down the wrong chimney.”_

“No thank you,” Oliver said, refusing to eat anything at all.

            “Oh, come off it.” Jamie had devoured half the box, insisting that he always needed sugar after a successful break in. “It was fun, admit it.”

            “Maybe for you, but _I_ didn’t see anything of importance.”

            “I invited you to look,” Jamie said with a pout, his fingers hovering over his next confection. “It’s not my fault you didn’t want to see the dress.”

            “They probably have dozens of other artifacts—valuable ones, may I add—and you chose a _dress_?” Oliver was at the point of exhaustion where he couldn’t be patient anymore. He was out of Diet Coke, he was out of fucks to give, and he mostly just wanted to get to bed and forget about Christmas.

            Jamie saw him rubbing his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, looked defensive. “But Ollie, it was the assassination dress.”

            “So?”

            “ _So?_ ” Jamie shot up from the couch, his debate face planted on. “Do you know that no one is allowed to see that dress until 2103, because Caroline Kennedy _said so_? A piece of history—and no one is allowed to see it!”

            “Probably for good reason.”

            “But I wanted to see it.”

            “You’re just drawn to infamy.”

            “It wasn’t the color of cotton candy, but watermelon. Like gum. Like watermelon gum, with a deep navy blue—”

            “Did you try on the shoes?”

            “I didn’t see them,” Jamie said solemnly, and Oliver could only roll his eyes. “And they didn’t even have the hat. But—“ and he had the widest grin that Oliver had seen in a long while, “the dress was _divine_.” 

            They were standing only a few feet from each other, the dawning lights of morning making stripes across the floor. Oliver was now too exhausted to even continue being annoyed, and frankly he couldn’t be annoyed when Jamie looked brighter than a thousand Christmas lights.

            “My gift better be fantastic,” Oliver muttered as he turned away, intent on making his way to their bedroom and finally getting some sleep.

            “What? Oh, of course.”  Jamie quick-stepped to a kitchen cabinet, making a grunt as he pulled out something large with effort. “I even wrapped it.”

            The wrapping job itself said something, as the Sunday funnies were taped haphazardly to six suspiciously 2-liter-shaped packages bound together with red ribbon. But you know, _effort_.

            “You did think of me,” Oliver said, unable to hide his awe.

            “I always think of you,” Jamie tried to say genuinely.

            “You do not.”

            “Well— _today_. Today I did.”

             “And during a break in, even.”

            “I’m really talented like that.”

            And Jamie was talented. For as much as Oliver could be annoyed with him, he was now conned into watching the morning news—Diet Coke in hand, and Jamie’s snoring form sprawled across the couch, with his feet in Oliver’s lap.

            _”We’re joined now by Cole Cooper on the scene—Cole, what are the FBI saying about this unusual crime?”_

            _“Well Cindy, considering there was no harm, no fowl, the local authorities are thinking perhaps Santa and his twelve reindeer just enjoy a good break in, now and then.”_

_“Or perhaps_ someone _is on Santa’s naughty list.”_

_“Some people can’t help landing on that list every year, Cindy.”_

            Oliver smiled. Today was going to be a good day, indeed.


End file.
